


Monsters

by mathildia



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Sub Captain Hook | Killian Jones, male submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 13:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2470304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mathildia/pseuds/mathildia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>28 years is a long time to wait. Hook and Cora find ways to pass the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monsters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlegreenfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlegreenfish/gifts).



> I told littlegreenfish I might have a submissive Hook and dominant Cora fic in me. Turns out I did.

Hook was a man who spent his time with other men. With his crew, for the most part, but now and again with sailors, thieves and prison guards. And he noticed things about those men. 

He noticed that some men, attracted certain types of lovers. There were men that attracted faux mothers, doting types that wanted to take care. There were men who attracted lost girls, waifs who were searching for a daddy. There were some men who attracted cruel vixens. 

“And what about you, sir?” his men has asked, when he explained this theory. 

Hook had laughed in triumph, like he had been waiting for the question. “There’s a certain type of woman,” he crowed, “who likes a man she can call ‘Captain’ in her bed.” 

Laughing and cheering all round. For Hook, Hook the great lover.

But Hook was lying then. Because Hook knew he attracted monsters. 

Cora was just the latest. 

Hook could not deny his face had served him well. But this time, perhaps his much remarked upon prettiness [often much remarked upon by him, himself]. Had led him to a terrible place. 

She had told him so. That first night she had stripped him and tied him to his own cot on his ship and straddled him and shoved what tasted like his own belt into his mouth and yanked off his hook and used that to scratch at his nipples until he was arching up off the cot, jerking against the ropes that held his wrist tight above his head. She had risen up enough to slip herself down onto his hopeless, straining, humiliating erection and her mouth had appeared at his ear, licked it, and breathed, “Oh Captain, you do know, don’t you, that for many a man, I would have created a spell that let 28 years pass in an eye blink. But not for you and I. Not after what you showed me in Wonderland.”

In Wonderland. 

When the Queen of Heart’s guards has forced him to his knees. When she had pressed her hand into his chest. More intimate than a kiss. She was a witch. She could see how it had made him ache. 

The home she had found for them, a blasted castle on the edge of her safe bubble in the Enchanted Forest, was clearly less than she was used to, but to him, luxury. There was a bed chamber. There was a bed. A bed he had eventually been fucked in, tied to and once left manacled to for three days as a punishment for not addressing her correctly {‘Your Royal Highness’}. 

After that, when she’d finally come for him, kissing him hard, then winding her hands in his hair and pulling his dry mouth between her legs, until she bucked and cried out that she had missed him, he had felt it had been worth it. 

There were times in that place that he went so long without being allowed to dress he forgot where his clothes were, and then, when he finally shucked his way into them, they felt odd and alien on his skin. 

Sometimes Cora left the castle for days, checking her wards and performing rites to find out news of the worlds beyond. She knew he wouldn’t escape. She knew what she could do to him. 

One day when she had left him alone, he realised he wasn’t sure if he could even come without Cora’s word giving him permission. 

He went to their bed chamber and lay on the bed with his dick hard and thick in his hand. 

His mind slid through all the familiar places. He was, he sometimes shocked himself to remember, older than her. He’d had a long life of chasing his beloved monsters and being chased right back. And most of those monsters had ended up in his bed. Or if not in his bed exactly, pressing into him one way or another. 

He knew not which monster had made him the creature he was, the creature that delighted in his own degradation, that would beg for pain, his dick hardening uncontrollably at his own desecration, but here he was, and this he was. 

He had always known of such things. There were men who craved the lash, of course. One night Cora had shown him how such cruelty could be a sweet torment, making him fuck her afterwards. And he had managed it, despite a flogging that had left him barely conscious and moaning for more. And when he’d got his mouth on her she had been slicker than he’d ever known.

Thoughts of that night made him writhe and gasp and he bucked into his hand. Could there be a repeat of it? Had never once asked her for anything, except for permission to touch her or, less often, to touch himself. 

It wasn’t just thoughts of Cora that made him moan and bite his lip. He remembered the Crocodile’s shimmering hand slipping down the front of his breeches as he lay in the deck of his ship, weakened with grief, his wrist bleeding out on the boards. “One last thing, dearie,” the Crocodile had whispered as he grasped Hook’s dick amongst tight leather. 

And Hook had thought, for a second, he was going to lose that too. But no, the Crocodile had another torture in mind. Despite all the distractions and the fact he could see his own severed hand lying in a pool of gore in front of him, the Crocodile, through skill and magic, had jerked Hook to completion as he lay in delirium. It sickened him, and yet he couldn’t find it in himself to protest. One weak, “No, please,” had escaped him as he approached his peak, but The Dark One had only laughed. 

“You could stop me,” he sing songed, “I’d let you stop me, if you tried. If you truly wanted to. But you won’t.” And that sharp face shot forward bringing them nose to nose. The grip around Hook’s needy cock got firmer and the Crocodile said, “You want this. You like it this way,” as Hook bucked and cried and came. 

And then there was Pan. Pan, slamming him up trees, forcing him backwards over rocks, biting his lips and his neck and whispering to him again and again that he could never leave. “That’s why it’s called Neverland, pirate. You can never leave. You belong to me now. You’re. My. Property.” And those words had made Hook moan and Pan laugh. 

But he came back to Cora as he got close. Cora chaining his wrists behind him and raising them to the ceiling so he had to bend forward, adding sharp little clamp to his nipples and making him beg her to add weights to them, until he was sobbing from the pain and the way they tugged at him was so sharp and sweet he thought it could be enough on it’s own. And when he thought of that, it made him come. 

*

He opened his eyes to find Cora sitting on the bed, watching him. She leant forward and dipped a finger tip into the seed lying in his chest. Then brought the finger to her mouth and licked it. “Having fun?” she said.

Hook couldn’t keep the panic out of his voice. “You never said I couldn’t.”

Her laugh made him go cold. “Weak, Captain,” she said. “But if you are so insistent on rebellion, why not do it again?”

Hook looked at her. His breathing was still uneven from his orgasm. “Again? I can’t”

“Of course you can,” she said, and she snaked her fingers around his dick, which hardened in her hand. Hook gasped at the sensation.

An eyebrow raise from Cora was all he needed for obedience. He took hold of his sore, stuff dick and started jerking, enjoying her watching him, and the rise of shame it brought to his cheeks. 

“You like me seeing you like this, don’t you, slut?”

A thick pulse of shame and arousal slid down his spine at that. He was, amazingly, already close. When Cora reached out and pinched his nipple hard that was all it took, and he tipped over, crying out all over again, less than a minute since his first release. 

He opened his eyes, panting as a second, smaller puddle dirtied his chest. 

Cora smiled at him, “And again, filth.”

“What? No, no. I can’t. I…”

She slapped his face hard. “You heard me. Again.”

It was so tender this time he had to force himself to grip it tight enough. The jerking hurt. The orgasm he found mounting swiftly and relentlessly, felt ominous. When the wave broke over him, he cried out, this time in pain, as a tiny splatter of semen hit his belly. 

He opened his eyes trepidatiously. Cora smiled. “And again,” she said, “And again, Captain.”

“Please,” he said, his voice hoarse from yelling out. “Please. I’m sorry. Don’t make me.”

“Again, Captain. You’ll stop when I tell you that you can stop.”

He was hard again. He flinched at his own touch. He did it. 

And he did it again.

And later, when he screamed and fell back against the pillows, crying in earnest, after coming dry for the ninth or tenth time, the manacles she slipped onto his wrists felt like salvation.


End file.
